The Importance of the Little Things In Life
by RecoveringTheSatellites
Summary: Just a little idea about the soldier becoming the Faceman we know and love. Set immediately after their escape from Fort Bragg.


Just a little something I thought of after a tough day. You know I don't own them, just playing with them a while.

Face flashed his winning smile at the tired receptionist as she handed over the keys to their rooms. He'd woven a great story, detailing how he, the lead guitarist in an up and coming rock band, along with the drummer and his manager, had been mugged on the way back from a meeting with the record company. They had to head to L.A. for a gig but had been beaten quite badly by the gang who'd taken all their money and suitcases and really just needed one night to rest. That bit wasn't hard to fake, they'd spent the last thirty eight hours driving, in a little car which did not accommodate the need for leg room. Luckily the motel was nearly empty, so for an autograph and a signed note to the 'promoters' to authorise two tickets and backstage passes to the next 'Desperadoes' concert, she handed over the keys to a room each. Grabbing the keys, he thanked her profusely, making sure she knew which room he was taking, before blowing her a kiss and wishing her sweet dreams.

Outside his heartfelt grin turned into a smirk as he tossed the other keys to Hannibal and B.A. who were waiting outside sat on the hood of their stolen car.

"Great job kid." Hannibal smiled. "What did you tell her?"

"It was an honest exchange, three rooms for the night in exchange for backstage passes to the next concert by 'The Desperadoes'."

"Who are 'The Desperadoes'? I ain't never heard of them." B.A. said.

"Well I'm the lead guitarist, you're the drummer and Hannibal's our manager. We're gonna be the next big thing as soon as we hit L.A." Face shrugged as though the answer was obvious.

"'The Desperadoes'" Hannibal mused, "Hmm, I like that."

"Man, I don't like this lyin'. Firs' you make me hotwire a car which I swore I'd never do again, an' now we lyin' to some poor girl to get free rooms."

"B.A., it won't always be like this." Hannibal promised. "But yesterday morning we were in a maximum security military prison, a prison we're still supposed to be in. We'll fix things, but it's not going to happen over night."

B.A. just growled and looked at his keys, shuffling off in the direction of his room.

Hannibal nodded his head wearily. "Goodnight Lieutenant."

"'Night Hannibal." Face said, purposely not using his CO's rank. As of yesterday, he was no longer the property of the US Army, none of them were.

Face crossed the parking lot to his room and unlocked the door. The room was small but clean and well decorated, sporting a double bed and TV, bathroom off to the side. If Face had had a bag he would've dumped it wearily on the floor, but all he had were the clothes he was wearing. And even they were stolen, he noted, a pair of jeans and a blue shirt taken from one of the guards lockers. He crossed over to the bed, kicking off his shoes as he went. His shoes were his, he realised. That was it, all he owned in the world, his battered army boots with the linings coming apart from days of traipsing through the jungles of Vietnam. It wasn't something that ever bothered him. He'd rarely had any possessions, growing up or in the army, had always told himself there wasn't really a need for them, as long as he was having a good time he was okay. And anyway it was often the case that having a good time had a lot more to do with the absence of clothing than the clothes themselves. But suddenly he looked down at his boots abandoned by the bed and felt they were awfully sad. He promised himself that he would change that, now that he was his own man. From that the realisations just kept coming, he was perched on the edge of a double bed. He'd never slept in a double before, he'd gone from one orphanage cot to the next and then army cots to the jungle floors, with the occasional hospital thrown in. He smiled. He'd never had a TV either. And through the door to the bathroom, he could see a bath.

Bath first he decided. He went into the bathroom and started filling the tub. There were little containers on the side of the bath, shampoo and one of bubble bath. He opened it up and poured what was probably too generous an amount into the bottom of the tub. As he let the water run he studied himself in the mirror. It didn't look like him. The last few years had aged him faster than they should have. When he'd joined up, he'd struggled to get anyone to believe he was old enough. He hadn't been but that was besides the point. Now, he knew he'd never get asked for proof of age again. His face looked old and weary, there was something missing from his eyes that he doubted he'd get back. Still, he supposed, he was only just twenty, maybe a bit of age and experience would work in his favour. His body was in a similar state. Still as lean and muscled and his high-school football days, if not more so, but there were thin lines of scarring across his back, just some of the souvenirs from General Chow's POW camp, and that nasty knot of damaged tissue where he'd been shot through the thigh back in his first year in country. It was ugly and Face hated it, but there was no use in getting upset over it. What was done was done. He'd grow his hair longer, he decided, fed up with the way the army dictated even the length of your hair. That he could change.

He spent so long analysing himself he almost let the bath overrun, before remembering and turning it off hastily. He left his stolen clothes in a pile on the floor and stepped into the bath. The water was hot and his toes recoiled as they touched. But he kept on and eased his body into the tub. He lay down and closed his eyes. As he did, he sloshed a load of water over the side, having forgotten to account for the water displacement getting in would cause. The water was hot enough to scold, it was turning his skin red, but he didn't care. He felt the heat relax his muscles gently, he even let out the briefest groan of pleasure and the tension in his shoulders started to lift. Twenty years old and he was only just experiencing his first bath. And he was hooked, no more luke-warm dribbling showers for him, scrubbing soap over his body and leaping back out before the water got any colder. He thought about his team-mates, Hannibal and B.A. in the rooms either side of him. Were they lying in their baths taking just as much pleasure in it as he was, or did they not realise the importance of this little comfort. He stayed in dozing until the water turned cold and his toes and fingers started to shrivel. He extracted himself reluctantly and caught his reflection once again in that mirror. It was maybe his imagination but he looked as though that weariness had been lifted ever so slightly.

Hannibal was the first up as usual, he got dressed and knocked on the doors of his team. One door opened and B.A. stuck his head out, also dressed and ready to go. The other door stayed closed. He knocked again and called. "Face! Come on it's time to go!" When there was still no answer Hannibal and B.A. exchanged worried glances, both their minds jumping to the worst of conclusions. After B.A. hollered idle threats and was still met with silence, Hannibal tried the door. It was open, Face never having had a room of his own before had never thought to lock it. Hannibal peered in and let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. Face was snuggled into the motel bathrobe, his hair sticking up all over where it had dried against the pillow. He was stretched out asleep, starfish position to make the most of the size of the bed, TV still on from the night before. Hannibal considered the childlike appearance of his XO a moment before turning the TV off and stepping out.

"Think we can wait a few more hours don't you?"


End file.
